


seven devils all around me

by charmedatmidnight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes loves Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Captain America: The First Avenger, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mentions of violence and blood and things like that?, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Stucky - Freeform, World War II, Zola's a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:59:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedatmidnight/pseuds/charmedatmidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is offered honorable discharge after being rescued by Captain America, but something bigger is keeping him there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seven devils all around me

_A white hot flash. Pain. Fire coursing through his veins. Throat raw as a scream is ripped from within. Pain. Nothing. Death? Too easy. A pinch. A prick. A blade dragging across his forearm. Pain. Eyes, staring down, instruments held in hand. Pain. Please stop, I won’t tell you anything. They do not want anything. Pain. A small man, a lab coat, eyes watching, syringe in hand._

_”Sergeant Barnes, the procedure has already started.”_

Bucky gasped, eyes flying open, his body jerking away from the nurse that had been listening to his breathing.

“Sergeant Barnes, is everything alright?” she asked politely with a gentle smile. The nurses had all been debriefed about the returning 107th, about what had happened to them. They were being too nice, but Bucky couldn’t blame them. He flashed a half-hearted smile in return.

“Of course, doll. Just tickled a bit.”

The nurse quirked a brow and returned to listening to his chest. He’d had pneumonia only a couple of weeks earlier – when he had been _there_ \- and he’d thought for sure that that would kill him. Maybe it still would. He wasn’t sure he would mind.

The nurse sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “Everything sounds fine, Sergeant,” she informed him, still smiling. “I’ll update one of the doctors, and I’ll be in to check on you later.”

“You’d better be back, darlin’. I could use a pretty face to look at after…” He trailed off, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her cheeks tinged pink and she laughed quietly as she left him sitting on the cot in the corner.

His hands came up to cover his face and he took a deep breath. But as soon as his eyes were closed, images swarmed his mind. A covered face hovering over him, sticking him with something, asking him his name and rank, _electricity_ shooting down his body when he responded correctly. The cool, metal table beneath him, the bright light blinding from above, the people around him, trying to break him. Breaking him.  _Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes 32557038 32557038 Barnes Sergeant 3255--_

Bucky gasped again, dropping his head back, hands falling to his lap. His chest was too tight; he could hardly breathe. There was too much, too much in his head, too much going on. Hell, he didn’t even know if this was real. For all he knew, he was still strapped to that table, still being poked and prodded and cut and broken and pieced together again. For all he knew, he was already dead, or dying. He didn’t expect to go to Heaven. Maybe this was his Hell. But Steve…

_Steve._

Steve was here. He was so fucking different, but he was here, and that... Bucky didn’t know. Steve had been _there_ , too. He had seen him, so many times, dragging him away, pulling him towards an exit. But the hallway only ever got longer and longer, and he was never able to run fast enough, and Steve was just out of reach, just too far away. And then he was jerking awake and crying out until his voice was hoarse. They never made it past the doors then. They never made it out like this, and Bucky was holding onto hope that that meant that this was real, even if Steve was...different.

Steve had explained everything as they had marched for two days back to Italy. He had explained about Project Rebirth and Erksine and the serum. He had explained that he didn’t get sick, now, that he didn’t have asthma and he could _see_ and _hear_ , and he could run and jump and do incredible things. And Steve was so fucking happy about it that Bucky couldn’t be mad that he was different. Steve was happy. That was all that had ever mattered to Bucky. Steve was happy, and he was… He was alive. Probably.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Bucky’s head snapped up at the voice. His eyes landed on a small man wearing glasses holding a clipboard. He shuddered.

“Reporting for duty,” he answered as evenly as he could. His hands balled into fists. _Zola_ flashed before his eyes, wielding yet another syringe in gloved hands.

The man sat before him, his clipboard resting on his thighs. “Well, Sergeant, everything seems to be in order,” he began, and Bucky did not look at him. “Physically, you are in fine condition. Everything seems to be working alright. You’ve fared better than a lot of the 107th. Apart from needing a few days’ rest, you’ll be fine.” Bucky briefly thought of the pneumonia he was supposed to have and the ribs he thought he remembered breaking a few weeks prior. He thought of the numerous scars and cuts and bruises and gashes he should be sporting all over his arms and legs and torso, but the doctor continued. “Your psychiatric evaluation…” He paused and removed his glasses, exhaling a lungful of air. “You qualify for honorable discharge, Sergeant. You have done a great service to this country. But due to extenuating circumstances and your experiences over the past month, we do not need you on the front lines, anymore. You can go home.”

Bucky looked at him, now. _Home_. He could… He was going to go home, to Brooklyn, to his family and friends. He would see his parents, Rebecca and Katharine, and Frankie. He could back to working at the docks, could take a dame out dancing on a Friday night. He could eats burgers and hot dogs and go to Coney Island in the summer. He could see Becky’s children grow up, and see Katharine and Frankie get married and have families of their own. Hell, he’d be home in time for Hanukah and Christmas. Him and Steve could--

 _Steve_.

Steve wasn’t in Brooklyn where he belonged. Steve was _here_ , on the front lines with him. Steve - _his Steve_ \- was here, where people died and were captured and broken and changed. _His Steve_ wasn’t safe, anymore, and something clenched and twisted painfully in Bucky’s stomach. He had banked on Steve staying safe at home. His Ma had promised to take care of him, and Becky had promised to check up on him. Steve would have been safe and loved, and he would have had a simple, quiet life. He would have found someone nice to settle down with, and he would’ve had a family and a _life_. But here… People didn’t think about that here. That wasn’t an option for most of them. It wasn’t for Bucky, anymore. Steve was supposed to be safe. Bucky had done everything he thought possible to keep his Steve safe, and now…

“Did you hear me, Sergeant? You can leave. You can go back home. We can fill out the paperwork this afternoon, and you can be home in a week.” The doctor smiled.

Bucky paused. He took a deep breath. He unclenched his fists. His jaw set in determination.

“I want to be here.”

_I can’t go home._

“I want to fight for our country.”

_Steve is my home._

“Thank you, Sir, but I belong here.”

_I’ll follow Steve straight into Hell and I won’t look back._

The Doctor looked at Bucky, studied his face, but his resolve was apparent. The Doctor sighed and placed his glasses back upon his nose. “If you insist.” He stood and made to leave the small enclosure, but he paused and turned back to Bucky. “This opportunity won’t last long, Sergeant. You can leave, but I would do it now if I were you.”

“Like I said, I don’t want to.”

The Doctor nodded and left, and Bucky laid down and curled in on himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt a sob wrack through his body as Zola appeared behind his eyelids, as the light nearly blinded him and he couldn’t do anything but struggle against the restraints.

_A white hot flash. Pain. Always pain._

 

* * *

 

 

_”Hello no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight; **I'm following him.** "_


End file.
